


A Little Privacy

by keelywolfe



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo is a brat, Everyone lives, Frottage, Hand Job, M/M, PWP, Thorin is king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Thorin wants is a little privacy, is that so much to ask?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Privacy

* * *

Of the many things Thorin had learned after the fall of Erebor, past the awareness of what betrayers were Elves and discovering how far he was able to walk with an empty belly, was the rude knowledge of what it was to no longer be royalty. 

It had been a lesson learned in fits and starts, for Dwarves took some time in forgetting that Thorin was the grandson of a King, and in time he became to them less of a ruler and more of a brother, one whom any Dwarf could speak, one who welcomed true loyalty over the thin promises of lords and stewards.

Dwarves were honorable and Thorin would gut any who claimed otherwise, and yet, over the years he found the word of the common to hold stronger than the golden cobweb lies of certain Dwarves who called themselves leaders. 

Men taught the lesson far quicker; to Men, he was nothing and no one, less than, and worth only how he managed the weight of his hammer. 

Nothing and no one, Thorin had been both, and to rise once more to the height of royalty and higher, to King, was a forgotten lesson to be relearned.

To begin with, moments of privacy were few and far between. One might believe being King meant his orders were to be obeyed unquestioningly, and one would be a fool to think thusly, for his orders must be tempered with knowledge; the knowledge that an order to deny the Men of Lake-town counsel when it was required might be obeyed, but it would hardly be the wisest use of his power. And that allowing the stewards of the crafting guilds to handle their own problems might be satisfying but would surely result in catastrophe if not outright war. 

Even the littlest of privacies were often invaded and Thorin had thought, uncharitably and more than once, that others must think he’d spent his life before taking the throne roaming the wilds bare as a babe, for surely they did not think him capable of dressing himself now. His patience for all of it was growing perilously thin.

He was King Under the Mountain, he was a leader of his people, and this night, he was the snarling grump of a Dwarf who slammed the door of his private quarters in the face of any who had attempted to follow him in. The day had begun early and had dragged on for too long, and he was perfectly capable of drawing his own bath and undressing, thank you very much! 

Or at least bellowing it at the startled faces of his servants had convinced them that tonight was not the time to press the issue.

It took less than an hour, hardly long enough to bathe and change into a dressing gown for a soft knock to fall upon his door and Thorin sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose with weary resignation.

"Come in," he called, refusing to rise from the comfort of his sofa. The door swung open and Thorin blinked to see not one of his yeoman or even Balin making their apologetic way in, but rather a large tray heaped with covered platters, almost hiding their bearer. A few staggering steps in and Bilbo kicked the door shut behind him with practiced ease.

"I didn’t see you at dinner," Bilbo plunked a heavily laden tray on the low table of the sitting room with a grunt, either ignoring Thorin’s astonishment or, more likely, simply not caring. Bilbo was a source of great contrariness to Thorin’s eye; on one hand, oh, so concerned about propriety and handkerchiefs, and on the other not giving one whit about it. He did as he liked, and likely did not give a fig over the appearances of sidling into the King’s quarters after the night watch had begun. Or if he did, it would only because Bilbo would consider it a waste of a fig better eaten.

"Balin told me you were resting in your quarters, a long day, he said, or some such nonsense. As though not eating would make any day shorter or any rest better, I ask you, does that make any sort of sense? I think not!"

Thorin watched in bemusement as Bilbo prattled on, not seeming to need answers to his questions as he cut slices of bread with brisk efficiency. He layered them with cheese and meat until they reached a precarious height before presenting it to Thorin, who took the offered plate almost meekly. His advisers and yeoman and manservants were wont to bow and smooth over an offense, imagined or otherwise, but Bilbo’s expression warned that either he take his dinner or he’d be wearing it. The former seemed the wisest choice. 

His stomach, formerly silent, now offered a hopeful gurgle. Thorin took it as a sign and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. To no one’s surprise, it was delicious; Bilbo chose his foodstuff wisely, the sharp bite of the cheese matching the roast mutton, slathered liberally with a table sauce that Thorin did not know but found tasty enough. He imagined Bilbo must have made it himself, perhaps in the kitchen as he loaded up the tray. 

It was terribly easy to picture Bilbo bustling around the kitchens, ignoring the head cook and declaring their mustards inferior as he stirred up his own. Tomorrow he might well be asked to pronounce judgment on whether Hobbits were allowed in the main kitchens, but for tonight Thorin would simply enjoy the spoils. 

Mid-chew, Thorin realized Bilbo was staring at him expectantly and he swallowed quickly, muttering out a belated thank you. It must have sufficed, for although Bilbo huffed out an impatient breath, he took up his own plate, settling next to Thorin on the sofa instead of taking one of the chairs, utterly unbothered at the light press of Thorin’s bare toes against his thigh. 

He took up his own sandwich and if Thorin enjoyed the meal, Bilbo was enraptured by it, devouring it with appreciative groans and taking up a second plate before Thorin could finish his first. 

"So tell me, why are we skipping the meal in the main hall tonight?" Bilbo asked conversationally, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

"We are not skipping anything," Thorin said, flicking Bilbo a glance even as he polished off the last bite. "I was seeking privacy for the evening. You chose to miss your dinner on your own." 

"Hmm," Bilbo chewed consideringly, swallowing thickly. "Would you like me to leave, then?"

Thorin leaned forward, tucked a finger beneath Bilbo's chin and tipped his head up. There was a fine scatter of breadcrumbs on the front of his shirt and a smudge of mustard at the corner of his mouth that had escaped his napkin. He watched as Bilbo blinked at him, his eyes curious and blue, widening in surprise as Thorin's light touch drifted down to the front of his shirt to tug him forward.

"No," Thorin said, simply, and brushed a light kiss over Bilbo's parted lips. And when Bilbo offered no protest, only a soft exhale, Thorin stole another, licking away that tiny smudge before covering Bilbo's mouth with his own. 

He tasted of mustard and cheese, hardly the most romantic of notions, and his lips were slightly chapped and dry. Bilbo made a small noise in his throat and leaned back, and Thorin let him. He hardly had the time to drag in a steadying breath when Bilbo's mouth returned, lips wet this time and close to frantic against his own. Hands grappled at Thorin as Bilbo leaned in and he seemed to be all elbows and knees, clumsily struggling to be closer yet. 

Thorin took the moment to scoop Bilbo into his lap. Bilbo squeaked into his mouth, a high, panicky sound as he flailed. He broke the kiss as he settled into the cradle of Thorin's legs with wide-eyed bewilderment, taking in the new seating arrangement with his usual aplomb. Which was to say, none at all. 

"Ah, yes, well," Bilbo said inanely, blinking rapidly. Thorin could not help but smile, reaching up to cup that startled face in both hands. Gently, Thorin stroked his fingertips over the downy softness of his cheeks, fascinated by the smoothness, the lack of beard.  
Traced his thumbs over Bilbo's eyebrows, then his lids as they fluttered closed, stroking the fragile skin with a delicate touch.

A firmer caress down swept over his cheekbones, followed by the tips of his fingers. Running up the line of his jaw to the soft lobes of his ears, following the line up to the points and lingering there, so odd to him, ears both unadorned and strangely shaped.

Thorin ran his thumbs over the delicate points yet again and Bilbo made a soft sound, a tremor running through him. Startled, he glanced down to see Bilbo's face twisted, his eyes clenched. Curious. He did it again and Bilbo quivered, breathing frantically through grit teeth.

"Oh, I see," Thorin murmured. He stroked that thin, tender skin as gently as he might weave a fine golden chain, following the path of whorls within and back again, until Bilbo was gasping, his fingers knotted in the front of Thorin's dressing gown as he struggled not to move.

Thorin hummed softly, catching Bilbo's face in his palms and firmly tipping his head to the side. Any startled protest was quickly dwindled into a frantic whimper as Thorin ducked his head and followed the same path with his tongue, lapping soft skin and nibbling along the ridged edge with careful nips.

Against him, Bilbo whimpered and begged, his hands leaving the shirtfront to claw frantically at Thorin's shoulders, short nails biting in and tomorrow there would be tiny, bruised crescents pressed into his flesh.

Thorin ignored the small pain, tilting Bilbo's head so that he might lave the same treatment on the other side, dragging his lips over fragile skin, catching the soft lobe between his teeth and licking up to the delicate point. He drew the tip in his mouth and sucked, and Bilbo wailed, arching up, quivering delightfully against him. With no little suspicion, Thorin slipped a hand between Bilbo's legs and even through his trousers he could feel the bloom of warmth. Thorin groaned, a harsh vibration against that soft ear and Bilbo let out a near shout, another rush of warmth soaking through his trousers against Thorin's searching palm. 

Gently, he eased back, soothing Bilbo with small licks and kisses, feathering his mouth across an ear which was suddenly stinging hot. Frowning, he pulled back to find Bilbo burying his crimson face into his own shoulder, a ruddy blush flowing up from his neck to the tip of his ear. 

"What's this then?" he murmured, softly kissing Bilbo's painfully hot cheek, silently urging him from his hiding place. Bilbo turned his head with obvious reluctance, eyes damp. 

"I'm so sorry," he muttered, "I didn’t mean to…it was only…"

"Beautiful," Thorin returned swiftly, and refused to allow Bilbo to turn away from him again, catching his protesting mouth with his own. "I wanted to see your pleasure, to hear you cry out for me," Thorin whispered into it, catching Bilbo's hand in his own and pressing it against his clothed belly, sliding it lower to his own hardness. The thin dressing gown was no barrier and Thorin huffed out a groan, "Do you feel how much I wanted you thus? You were _beautiful_."

"I'm not," Bilbo whispered, shyly, though his hands were eager enough. He rose up on his knees to fumble the dressing gown up, baring Thorin's thighs. He wore no smallclothes beneath it and Bilbo's hands, those lovely, cunning hands were strong enough to make Thorin gasp.

"Would you insult my honor by calling me a liar?" Thorin groaned, biting Bilbo's jaw roughly before again taking his ear between his lips. Bilbo blew out a sharp breath, shivering, and his hand tightened, thumb pressing hard at the tip in such a way that Thorin felt the throb of his heartbeat at his temples. 

"Touch me," Thorin begged, softly, into that ear and Bilbo did, finding a quick, tight rhythm. His hand was barely large enough to circle the girth of Thorin's shaft and he joined it with the other, both hands lovely and slick, and Thorin blew a soft gust into Bilbo's ear as he came, grabbing Bilbo's hands and aiming so that he might spill hot over his own belly and spare Bilbo's clothes. It left him streaked him with velvety smears of seed nearly to his chin.

Thorin swept a hand through it, dragging it upward to press his fingers to Bilbo's lips for him to touch his tongue against hesitantly, licking his slick fingers as though testing the flavor and finding it to his liking. The sight made Thorin groan aloud and he caught Bilbo's mouth with his own, stroking his tongue within possessively to catch their mingled taste. 

" _Beautiful_ ," Thorin growled, daring Bilbo to deny him again and the little hobbit only grabbed at him, tangled his hands into the length of Thorin's hair and wriggling back before dragging him down for yet another kiss. Thorin followed his insistent pulls, resting his weight on his elbows as he settled over him, stealing kisses and breathing as one. 

"We could continue this in your bedroom," Bilbo murmured and though his ears weren't as sensitive as a Hobbit's seemed, Thorin shivered at the touch of his breath. "As I understand it, you do prefer your privacy."

"I do," Thorin mumbled in agreement, and did not move an inch, only kissed that saucy mouth again and again, and woe to any other who might knock on his door this night.

-finis-


End file.
